


Know Me For What I Am

by 2012bookworm



Series: An Ordinary Night at the Kitchen Table [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Minor Chris "Chowder" Chow/Caitlin Farmer, Minor Eric Bittle/Jack Zimmermann, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-12 04:36:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11154372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2012bookworm/pseuds/2012bookworm
Summary: After the first month, they still haven't killed each other.





	Know Me For What I Am

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't just leave it there. So now you get this. See minor warnings in end notes.
> 
> Title from Mary Oliver's Entering the Kingdom

After Dex’s forced confession to Derek in the basement, they spent the rest of the week wandering the city, one day just riding the subway to the different boroughs and another at the Coney Island boardwalk. Neither of them mentioned again the reason Dex had come to New York, but when he left that Saturday, Derek pulled him into another hug and told him to text or call if he needed anything. Sunday, Dex texted to coordinate move-in. Otherwise, Derek hadn’t heard from him. So he relaxes a little when he sees Mr. Poindexter carrying a box up the stairs. Things are at least fixed that far.

“’Sup, Mr. Poindexter. Need a hand?” Derek asks.

“No, but thank you, Derek.” Dex’s dad adjusts his grip on the box. “Which room is Will’s?”

“We’re right here.” Derek tells him, pointing to the room he’ll be sharing with Dex for the next year. Or at least as long as Dex could stand it. Dex wasn’t as vocal about his distrust of the idea as he’d been right after the dib flip, but Derek knew he was still worried about having Derek as a roommate. Originally, he’d been halfway planning to see how quickly he could convince Dex to leave, but now… well, he decided to be a good enough roommate that Dex could stick it out. 

Derek wanders down the stairs and sticks his head out the door. Dex is in the process of moving boxes from the car to the porch, while his mother organizes them by type. There’s some kind of numbered system. He was pretty sure the insane organization was a Dex thing, but instead it might be a Poindexter family trait.

“Hey! Need any help?” Derek asks.

“I’m good.” Dex says, smiling at Derek over the top of the latest box. “There’s only one more. We the first ones here?” 

“Yeah, Chowder gets in tomorrow, Bitty on Saturday with Jack, Ollie and Wicks at some point.” Derek pauses. “Are Ollie and Wicks even in the group chat?”

“They just don’t comment all that often. Because they’re not insane.” Dex goes back to the car for the last box. “Dude, the house will be quiet without Ransom and Holster here. No show tunes, no overemotional bro moments. Can you imagine?”

Derek considers for a moment. It’ll be nice, but also… “It’ll be weird, not having them around.”

“Even weirder without Lardo.” Dex adds the last box to the pile. His mother looks at it, squints, and turns it all the way around.

“Will, did we put a number on this one?” She keeps turning it in circles.

“Must be box zero.” Dex tells her, after inspecting it.

Derek, who’s been trying to figure out the system since he came out onto the porch, decides to just ask. “Ok, what the heck do the numbers mean?”

Mr. Poindexter walks out onto the porch. “I’m fairly sure it’s a made-up system used to make this whole process more complicated, but they insist it’s helpful. Which one next?”

“Five.” Dex’s mom tells him. After some searching, he picks up the box with a large five on the side and carries it through the door. Dex picks up a box labeled three and follows him. “Derek, would you mind taking box six to the kitchen?”

“Sure, Ms. Poindexter.” He picks up the box, manages not to stagger when it’s heavier than he expected, and goes to drop it off in the kitchen. He returns to the porch, is told to take box four to the same place, gives up on figuring out the labeling system, and nearly runs into Dex on his way back inside.

“You know we can’t unpack any kitchen supplies until Bitty gets here, right?” He asks as Dex takes the box from him.

“Oh, I know.” Dex tells him. He puts the second box down on top of the first, reaches up into a stretch, and shakes out his arms on the way down. “Besides, I told Bitty I’d help him reorganize the cabinets. Now that Ransom and Holster are gone, we can get rid of the Sriracha shelf.” He walks out of the kitchen.

Derek scrambles to follow, distracted by rather nice arm muscles. “Wait, we can’t get rid of all the Sriracha! That would be – Dude, I’m pretty sure that’s against the bylaws!”

Dex rolls his eyes. “We’re not banning it from the Haus. We’re just putting it in the spice cabinet, like normal people.”

“Dude,” Derek stops in the doorway, “we have a spice cabinet?”

Dex sighs. “We live with Bitty. Of course we do. He has to keep the vanilla and cinnamon somewhere.” 

Derek’s pretty sure Mrs. Poindexter’s laughing at them, but it’s not his fault Bitty all but banned him from working in the kitchen. How is he supposed to know these things? Now that he thinks about it, Bitty does seem to keep most of the small jars he uses to cook in the same place, but when he’s in the kitchen he’s generally eating or doing homework, and either way he’s usually not paying much attention to what Bitty’s doing beyond the comforting presence of Bitty himself. He remembers freshmen year, when his dorm room got too quiet, his head too loud, he would walk over to the Haus and bask in the ambient noise of pop music and Shitty’s expounding and Ransom and Holster’s general loud. He hadn’t realized how much he liked having people around until they were just there, and now, for the first time, he’s moving into a house that feels like a home, disgusting and crooked as it is. He might be the first person ever who’s looking forward to paper-thin walls and pre-coffee run-ins in the kitchen. He’s even be looking forward to sharing a room with someone, even if that person’s Dex.

Dex who is now standing in front of him, eyebrow raised. “Gonna let me through the door, Nurse?”

Derek steps aside and flings out his arm in an expansive ‘enter’ gesture. This time he definitely hears a muffled laugh from Mrs. Poindexter. Dex sighs and heads for the stairs. He and Dex’s mom share a grin.

***

By the time the day’s over, Derek and Dex have had four minor disagreements (“We talked about this – you’re not getting the top bunk.” “Dude, I cannot listen to anymore Billy Joel. Or your angry pirate music.” “Why can’t you just organize the books by author?” “Chill, Dex. The picture’s fine. Everything’s a little crooked.”), one major argument (over closet space, of all things), and one almost-fight (“Yes, we need another desk! We are not sharing a desk!”), but both of them are entirely unpacked and the room is set up and surprisingly roomy, even with the extra desk Dex insisted on dragging up from the basement. Dex’s mom refolded all their towels and made up the beds while Dex’s dad helped hang what Dex called Derek’s hipster art posters and the surprisingly pretty landscape Dex brought. There was a clear delineation between Dex’s things and Derek’s stuff, and he was sure the room was the most clean and organized that it would ever be, but it felt right. Comfortable. Homey, even.

Especially once Dex’s parents left and they ended up sitting on the floor eating pizza straight from the box.

“Dude, we are now officially residents of the Haus.” Derek says, angling the pizza slice to catch a falling glob of cheese. “And juniors.”

“I’m living in the same room as you for an entire year. God. Still not sure how or why that happened.” Dex steals the crust Derek put back in the box for later and takes a large bite.

“Hey!” Derek glares. Dex is unconcerned. “It could even be two years, for all we know.”

Dex goes a little pale. “Let’s get through one year, first. Hell, let’s get through one month.”

“It won’t be that bad.” Derek tells him. “We did ok today.”

“Remind me to get Chowder to witness us signing some sort of roommate agreement. Then we’ll give it to Bitty to enforce.”

“Do you think we need one of those?” Derek nods towards the last slice of pizza. “You want that?”

“Go ahead.” Dex says. “And it couldn’t hurt. Might actually be a good start. That way we’ll at least know when we’re crossing a line.”

Derek hmms at him, mouth full of pizza. Dex seems to take that as affirmation. “We’ll get Chowder to help us draft it whenever he gets in.” He stands and grabs the empty pizza box to take down to the kitchen. Derek grabs the empty solo cups and follows. They leave everything next to the front door to deal with in the morning. Dex turns the deadbolt.

“So, um, do we want to do something? Or, um…” Derek tries to think of something to complete his sentence, and comes up completely blank.

Dex gives him a look. “I’m going to bed, Nurse. It’s been a long day. You can do what you want.”

“Right. Chill. I’m going to read for a while, I guess.” Derek is struck by the sudden realization that he’ll be spending the next year sharing a room with Dex. He’s not sure how to do that. They’ve shared hotel rooms and bus seats, but this feels different. Especially since he’s never lived in the same room with anyone. Or lived with someone he considers a friend. Who he’s trying desperately not to be attracted to. Fuck.

And Dex has been talking. “… should get one of those lamps that clips onto the bunk. Since this’ll probably happen a lot.”

Derek stares at him. “Um… what?”

“You read a lot. I figure you don’t want to do all of it at your desk.” Dex says.

“What?”

Dex sighs. “If you get one of those lights that clip onto your bed, you can read there instead of at your desk.”

Derek gives up. “Great. I’ll look into it. So will my light bother you, or anything?” 

Dex puts a hand over his face and groans. “Did you listen to a single word I just said?”

“No?” Derek puts on a smile. Dex is unmoved. “It’s chill, bro.”

The level of annoyance radiating from Dex goes up a few notches. “This roommate thing? Off to a great start.” He stomps up the stairs. Derek follows. He’s spent most of the day following Dex, now that he thinks about it. The view’s not bad. And the metaphor’s pretty potent too.

They get ready for bed in silence, annoyed on Dex’s part, contemplative on Derek’s. He crawls into bed with his book, still wondering about the light but unwilling to start a real fight. 

“Here.” Dex thrusts a flashlight in his face. “Will this work until we can find you one of those clip light things?” The tone is belligerent, but Derek’s known Dex long enough to recognize the olive branch. He takes it.

“Yeah man, thanks.” He flips it on and off a few times and considers how much he would get chirped if he pulled the blanket over his head to make a tent like he’s seen in the movies. The answer is probably a lot. Dex turns off the overhead light and climbs up into his bunk. The bed creaks as he settles in. That may end up being the oddest thing about this whole experience, Derek thinks, getting used to other people’s noises in his space all the time. There’s silence for a few minutes, except for the sound of flipping pages. Before another creak and a rustle of sheets.

“Hey,” Dex says, “When Chowder gets here, don’t tell him why I was in New York, all right? It’s… he doesn’t need to know.”

“Can do, bro.” The conversation takes Derek by surprise. He figured they would just never talk about it again, especially if Dex had his way. That’s he’s bringing it up, even obliquely, well… “So… so everything worked out, then? With… with the parents, I mean?”

A pause. “Yeah.” Dex says, hesitant. “Yeah. It’s… we’re pretty much going to deal with it by not talking about it until we have to, which works for me.”

“Really?” Derek asks, skeptical.

Dex snorts. “Yeah. I mean, my mom’ll probably fumble out something about ‘or cute boys’ the next time she asks me if I’ve met any cute girls, but other than that…unless I’m in a relationship, it doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to you, Dex.” Derek points out, soft.

“That’s not… I meant….” Dex sighs. “I should’ve said it won’t come up, not… not that it doesn’t matter. Things are fine. Back to normal.”

Another moment of silence, only broken by Dex’s breathing. “You know, if you ever need to talk…” Derek ventures.

“Nope. Nu-uh. Not having this conversation. I’m fine, Nursey. Go back to your book.” The bed shifts as he rolls over. “Night.” 

“Night.” Derek echoes.

***

Chowder gets in early the next morning. Dex has already been for a run. Derek is still in his boxers and only halfway through his first cup of coffee. Despite the early hour, Chowder is already far too awake and very enthusiastic.

“Dex! Nursey! It’s so good to see you!” Chowder gives each of them a hug. “I can’t believe we’re all living together this year! It’s going to be so ‘swawesome!”

“Yeah!” Derek manages, halfhearted. He takes another sip of coffee and stares at the goalie all but bouncing in the kitchen. “Chowder, didn’t you have to fly here from California? How are you already here at-“ Derek checks his phone, “- 7:15 in the morning?”

Chowder shrugs. “The only straight flight from San Jose to Boston is the red-eye. It gets in at 5:30.” 

Derek gapes. “So, you’ve been up since then?” 

Dex, leaning against the counter, snickers.

“Yup!” Chowder replies. “Wanna help me unpack? We can catch up!” 

“Sure. Let me just…put some clothes on.”

“Ok!” Chowder bounds out of the room and up the stairs. Derek downs his coffee. Dex is still laughing.

“Don’t worry,” he tells Derek, “He’ll be asleep by two at the latest.” 

“How? How is he this awake? Will he always be this awake?” Derek groans, face in his hands.

Dex grins and pats him on the shoulder on the way to the stairs.

***

Chowder does crash right after lunch, sprawled facedown on the couch. Derek covers him with a blanket from the wicker basket that appeared next to the couch one day. No one will own up to buying it, so no one actually knows where it came from, though common consensus says it belongs to Bitty. Privately, Derek suspects Holster, who’s a big fan of couch cuddling. Less than an hour later, Ollie and Wicks get in. They moved most of their stuff in over the summer, but Dex and Derek help carry up the last few things. Soon, there’s crashing and banging coming from the attic again. Derek relaxes. It’s not as loud as Ransom and Holster, but it still makes the Haus feel right. He spends the afternoon getting a head start on reading for some classes, and polishes a few poems he wrote over the summer for use as emergency assignments. Dex pulls everything out of the kitchen cabinets in preparation for Bitty moving back in tomorrow, and piles it all on the kitchen table. They order pizza again for dinner. But this time it’s all of them eating it on the living room floor as they swap hilarious stories from the summer. Derek doesn’t have much to contribute. He spent most of the time alone in his house trying to put together a poetry collection, in between bouts of volunteering, which is not an activity that leads to good stories, like Ollie’s about the guy at his internship who was in some kind of war with the copy machine, or Chowder’s about meeting Farmer’s parents.

It’s late by the time they all retreat to their rooms, but Derek still half-wakes up when Dex climbs out of bed at 6:30. He hears the slide of dresser drawers, the bathroom door open and shut, and an odd groan that he’s pretty sure is the pipes. He drifts back off after Dex shuts the hall door softly behind him, and when he rolls over to check his phone a little while later, it’s after nine. He gets up, stretches, and makes his way down to the kitchen to find Jack leaning against the inside of the doorway and Bitty and Dex opening boxes. Dex is muttering.

“Morning.” Jack says, glancing over at him. “I was told to give you this.”

He hands over a mug of coffee. Derek takes a grateful sip, hiding a smile behind the mug’s rim. It’s nice that someone thought to save him a cup. He moves to the other side of the doorway, mirroring Jack.

“What are they up to?” He asks, nodding at Dex and Bitty digging through one of the boxes.

“Bitty wants to play music while they organize.” Jack’s look is fond. “Dex insists he brought some kind of wireless speaker, and that it’s in that particular box.”

Dex is proven correct a few seconds later when he pulls a grey speaker out of the box with a noise of triumph. Bitty looks up and spots Derek. “Nursey! How are you? How was your summer?” He walks over to give Derek a hug while Dex fiddles with the speaker on the counter.

“It was good, Bits. Yours?”

Bitty smiles, glances at Jack. “Wonderful! Got to spend the last two weeks with this lovely man. Lots of uninterrupted time.” His smile turns teasing, hot – Jack pulls him in for a kiss, tucks him into his side, and places another absentminded kiss on his temple.

“I’ll give you that one, but next time it’s a fine.” Derek tells them, grinning.

“Does the captain get fined?” Bitty muses.

“Yes.” Dex says, obviously listening in. “Mostly ‘cause I want to paint the Haus this year and you two are one of our best sources of income. Besides, it’s an investment in future pies.”

Bitty huffs. Jack laughs, and hugs him closer. Dex smiles at them, soft. Derek gets it. He’s not sure they heard Jack laugh once their entire freshman year. And no one could figure out what was up with Bitty last fall, just that something was going on, which sent Chowder (and the rest of the team, honestly) into a frantic worry cycle and spawned a ‘cheer Bitty up’ group text. Now, things are better.

“So, where do we want to start?” Dex asks, gesturing around the kitchen at the empty cabinets, doors open.

“Baking supplies.” Bitty says firmly, pulling away from Jack. “I want them close to the oven.”

***

That night, Bitty cooks them all dinner in his newly organized kitchen. Jack and Dex help, while Chowder and Derek sit and watch. Jack moves around Bitty like poetry, handing him what he needs before he asks, hovering close but never in the way. Derek catches glimpses of what they must be like alone in the way Jack’s hands skim Bitty’s skin and the way Bitty almost leans in for a kiss after he asks Jack to taste the gravy. Chowder chatters happily in the background, eyes gleaming. Derek half-listens and half watches Dex’s hands as they chop whatever vegetables Bitty hands him. They’re so capable, those hands, strong, with clever fingers and freckled backs. Ollie and Wicks clatter down the stairs, poke their heads in, and say they’ll be back for dessert before running out the door. Dinner, which is roast and mashed potatoes, with steamed vegetables and cornbread, is, of course, delicious.

Jack starts teasing Bitty about the cornbread and Chowder seems determined to eat his weight in mashed potatoes and Derek is struck by a sudden feeling of right. He thinks, this is what it is to be content and I’m not sure I could put this in poem, but he tries, that night, scratching out lines that twist into trite and wondering how simple warmth could be so much harder to convey than icy introspection. Sometime late Dex sits up, yawning, and asks, “Dude, what are you working on? School hasn’t even started. Practice hasn’t even started.”

“There’s a poem.” Derek replies, distracted. “But I don’t – I can’t- It’s not working.”

“Then go to sleep. Figure it out in the morning.”

Derek sighs, gives into the inevitable, turns off his desk lamp, and gets into bed. “I’m… I’m not even sure it’s possible, to convey what I want to, you know. I mean, anything’s possible, but I’ve never read a poem about contentment, not a good one, at least. So, like, I’m trying to break new ground. Sort of.”

Derek can feel Dex rolling his eyes. “Go to sleep, Nurse.”

He does.

***

Jack leaves the next afternoon for Providence. Bitty starts drawing out plays and baking pies for the first practice on Monday. Tango stops by, then Whiskey, then a little hesitantly, Ford. She knocks.

“Dude, who is knocking?” Derek asks as he opens the door. “Oh, hey Ford. Wait. Why are you knocking?”

Ford looks confused. “Because it’s polite?”

“Don’t bother!” Whiskey yells from the living room. “No one knocks!”

“Ford, Fordy.” Derek stops, make a face. “We’ll figure out a good nickname eventually.” He ushers her inside. “Anyway, Haus rules – the front door is always open. Metaphorically. Don’t bother knocking. Always knock on any closed room doors, unless you’re ok with maybe seeing things you don’t want to see. Or you’re Shitty.”

“So, it’s shitty to open bedroom doors without knocking. Makes sense.” Ford says, a look on her face like she’s storing the information in some kind of internal index.

Derek nods, then stops and thinks through her phrasing. “No, I mean yes, but Shitty’s a person. A person who never knocks. Ever.”

“What?” Ford looks suspicious, as if this is some kind of joke. Smart of her, Derek thinks.

“Shitty’s a guy who graduated a few years ago, I guess you haven’t met him. Brown hair, sick mustache, going to Harvard Law?”

“Wait, Lardo’s boyfriend’s name is Shitty?” Ford asks, incredulous.

“So they are dating!” Derek exclaims.

“Maybe? I just assumed….” Ford shakes her head and ends firmly. “Well, if they’re not they should be. But, really, his name is Shitty?”

“Hockey nicknames. He’s had his for so long that even I don’t know his real name, and we went to high school together.” Derek says. “You’ll meet him eventually. He shows up now and then to get away from the elitism that is Harvard. He’ll probably be naked. If you’re uncomfortable with that, let him know.”

“Ok.” Derek can see the moment when Ford decides to just go with it. “Is Bitty here?”

Derek points to the kitchen. “Right this way, Fordster.”

Ford looks at him over her glasses. Ford’s glare may give Lardo’s a run for its money. “No.”

Her ‘no’ is echoed by Dex who’s spent the last hour or so in the living room answering Tango’s endless questions about classes.

“You come up with one then!” He yells to Dex.

“It’ll happen when it happens!” Dex yells back. “You can’t force a nickname!”

Derek knows this, and normally he would be the first to tell everyone to chill, but he desperately wants Ford to feel like she belongs. Wants her to stop knocking, to fully claim the space the team would give her, whatever shape that space takes. She’s different, the only girl for one, and while they haven’t scared her off yet, he’s sort of worried they might. It’s a calmer team this year, yes, but they are still the Samwell Men’s Hockey Team – which is a guarantee of shenanigans of some sort. And he overheard her last year, talking with Lardo, about how stage managing meant she could never quite fit with the rest of the theatre students, always had to keep a little distance because she had to be viewed as impartial and in charge, and he doesn’t want this to be more of the same.

Bitty pokes his head out of the kitchen. “Hey Ford! Come to talk logistics?”

“Yes!” She pulls out a clipboard from somewhere and starts flipping pages. “Now, tomorrow I’ll be pulling equipment for the new – are they frogs or tadpoles this year? – the new players, as well as starting a full-scale inventory. I wanted to see what your timeframe is…” Her voice trails off as she walks in to the kitchen. Derek backs away from the terrifying levels of organization that seem to be occurring, and goes to join everyone else in the living room.

Whiskey offers him a controller. “Video games? I can switch over to something two-player.”

“Yeah.” He takes the controller, sits on the floor in front of the couch. It’s good to see Whiskey here. He always reminded Derek a little of Dex, a less angry, more evasive version. Neither of them quite knew what to do with the chaos that is the team, but Whiskey didn’t have a Chowder to pull him in like Dex did. And started hanging out with some of the lax bros.

Whiskey pulls up Halo, and battle begins. Derek’s not great at first-person shooter style games, but he does well enough, and eventually the shouting pulls Chowder downstairs to lean over the couch and cheer on whoever’s losing. Tango’s given up asking Dex questions and is staring avidly at the game, providing rapid-fire commentary and yelling whenever someone makes a particularly good shot. In a lull, Derek sneaks a look at Dex, the only one quiet, who is watching all of them with a small, happy smile on his face.

That night, Derek finds a note on his pillow. This is what you were looking for, it reads, Billy Collins – I Ask You.

***

The next few weeks are a whirlwind of practice and classes and meeting the new frogs and before Derek knows it it’s mid-September. He Dex haven’t killed each other yet, which Chowder is inordinately happy about, and the roommate agreement is helpful, though it doesn’t prevent every argument. Derek now knows that if he wants to change the song every thirty seconds he better be wearing headphones or Dex will starts screaming at him, especially if he’s trying to work, and Dex learned to not touch Derek’s snapback. Ever. He’s also learned a hundred smaller, less fraught things, like the way Dex only keeps books on his desk if he needs them for a project, and the rest have to be in the bookshelf, organized alphabetically by author, in direct contrast to the way Derek’s books have scattered across the room and all over the Haus. After the third time Dex tripped over one of his stacks and started swearing far too early in the morning, he’s tried to be neater with mixed results. Dex, he found out, goes running nearly every morning, practice or not. Derek can judge the state of their relationship by whether or not Dex has a cup of coffee ready for him when he stumbles down to the kitchen. He’s yet to decide if this is insanely passive-aggressive or just some kind of attempt to reward good behavior. Either way, it works. And Dex doesn’t get mad about him staying up late to work on a piece, probably because he’s usually up as well, but just about things like underwear left on the floor or Derek’s hair products taking up all the counter space. 

Hockey’s going well, too. Bitty’s a good captain, knows just how to motivate them, and is kind without being a pushover. Ford, after a few stumbles, (sticks and pucks should not be referred to as props) is pursuing her job with a dogged determination that has all the upperclassmen impressed. He and Dex are Ransom-and-Holster-level connecting all the time now, instead of just every once in a while, and getting shots past Chowder is a near impossibility. Bitty’s changed the line to put Whiskey on center forward and he’s killing it, aggressive and focused in a way he wasn’t as a tadpole. Their first game is in a week and a half and Derek, unlike past years, actually feels ready. 

So of course, everything goes wrong.

It starts when Chowder catches a miserable cold and is quarantined in his room to avoid getting anyone else sick. It should be fine, since their first game’s a week away, despite the fact that it turns into a nasty cough that shakes Chowder’s body and leaves him panting. Dex goes to buy cough medicine. Bitty makes soup. Derek feels useless. 

But by Thursday afternoon, while Chowder’s deemed well enough to play, Bitty’s suspiciously sluggish, despite his insistence that everything’s fine. The team, and coaches, start exchanging worried glances, and Ford corners Dex and Derek after practice.

“You need to make Bitty take tomorrow off.” She tells them flatly.

“Um…” Derek starts.

“He’s got the same thing Chowder had, doesn’t he?” Dex asks, drumming his fingers on the strap of his hockey bag. “Coaches won’t like it if he misses practice.”

“We couldn’t convince him to skip practice anyway.” Derek says. This is bad. Really bad. Bitty’s the captain.

Ford’s shaking her head. “Not practice, just everything else. I doubt it’ll do much good, but maybe if we convince him to take some cold meds tonight and he sleeps most of tomorrow it’ll knock this out before it turns into a full-blown illness.”

“We’ll make it work.” Dex says, rubbing his hand over his face. “I can cook team dinner tomorrow, and Chowder –“

“Not Chowder.” Ford interrupts. “He needs sleep too. That cough’s still awful. Why do think he’s not a part of this conversation?”

“Um…” Both Ford and Dex turn to look at him. “Why are we a part of this conversation? Not that… I mean, shouldn’t you be talking to the seniors? Or the alternate captain?”

Ford grimaces. “Yeah, about that…”

“We haven’t named one yet.” Dex stares into the distance as he makes this pronouncement, starting to think over all the different options. “Chowder’s the goalie so he’s out, Whiskey’s too young, plus he’s not as well integrated into the team as he’d need to be… Ollie or Wicks?”

“They’re understudies, and everyone knows it.” Ford’s clutching her clipboard and staring at Dex.

Dex sighs, but nods in agreement. “You mean second stringers, but yeah. Nursey?”

“Fuck no.” Derek bursts out, all but backing away. “I refuse.”

“That’s a definite no from Nursey, ok.” Dex pauses. “Who’s left?”

Ford takes a deep breath and pastes on an extra bright smile. “Congratulations Dex, you’ve just been selected alternate captain!”

“What?” His voice comes out panicked.

“Well, dude, following your logic –“ Derek shrugs. “- you’re literally the only option. Chill, bro. It’ll be fine.”

“Not the time, Nurse.” Dex grits out. His eyes squeeze shut and his hands clench on the strap of his bag. Derek opens his mouth to say something else encouraging only to be glared into silence by Ford. They stand there for a moment until Dex releases a breath, almost a sigh, and opens his eyes. He looks at Ford. “You’ve talked to the coaches about this?”

“They’re on board.” Ford’s smile this time is proud. “I gave them my recommendation and they took it.”

“Ok. Ok.” Dex starts to pace. “Here’s the plan. We assume Bitty’ll be good to play until he or the coaches say otherwise. Nursey, you’re in charge of getting him to bed at a reasonable hour tonight and making sure he takes Nyquil or something. And possibly locking him in his room tomorrow.” He turns to Ford. “You’ve got a copy of the playbook?” Ford nods. “Bring it by tomorrow after two and I’ll review it, just in case. I can cook team dinner – I’ll make Tango help – and that should have everything covered.”

“I can help with dinner –“ Derek starts, only to be cut off.

“We are not losing you to some sort of unfortunate knife or stove related accident. With Chowder off his game we’ll have to be really on top of ours. I need you all in on Saturday. Understood?” Derek feels a shiver run up his spine and nods. In control Dex is worryingly hot.

Ford jumps in. “I’ll give you a hand with dinner. What’s the menu?”

“No idea. And-“ Dex checks his watch and winces. “- I’ve got to get to class. Sorry.”

“Not a problem. I can figure out something and get back to you?”

“Great. Thanks, Ford!” Dex yells over his shoulder as he runs to class.

Ford and Derek exchange glances. “It’ll be fine.” Dex tells her. “You’ll see.”

“Yeah, yeah, something always goes wrong during shows, and we make it work. This can’t be any different.” Fords says with false cheer. She flips a few pages on her clipboard. “Umm… what do hockey players eat? I mean, I’ve got an allergy list somewhere, but…”

“Anything.” Derek says. He stops to think for a moment. “Pasta’s generally good.”

***

It’s easier than he expected to coax Bitty into bed early and drink a dose of cold medicine from the shot glass he found (hey, it’s close to the right size, since they apparently lost the little cup that you’re supposed to use). He’s not completely sure how you do this, how you take care of someone who’s sick, but he can muddle through, even if it involves some googling. Especially since it’s Bitty, who’s nursed all of them through at least one cold or bout of flu, and besides, Dex asked. Which means he trusts Derek to be able to get it right, which is…nice.

The next morning, Bitty barely manages to drag himself to practice, and can’t focus while he’s there. The coaches send him home less than ten minutes in and ask to see Dex after practice. Derek skulks around the player’s lounge waiting for him.

“Well,” Dex says after he walks out of the coaches’ office, “Unless there’s a miracle, I’m acting captain for the game tomorrow.”

Derek nods. He considers trying to make some kind of stirring speech, but decides Dex wouldn’t appreciate it. They walk back to the Haus in silence.

***

Ford shows up at precisely two with the playbook and half a box of spaghetti noodles.

“I thought I’d contribute some supplies.” She says as she thunks the box down on the table. “How’s Bitty?”

Derek shrugs. “He’s been asleep – or at least in his room – since noon when I woke him up and made him eat some soup. Dex just texted, class ran over but he’ll be here in a couple of minutes.”

Just as Ford’s about to reply, Whiskey and Tango tumble into the Haus and lean their heads into the kitchen.

Tango starts talking. “Dex texted us? He wants us to go on a Stop and Shop run for him? Do you know which Stop and Shop? Does it matter? What should we get?”

Derek holds up a hand to stop the flood of questions. “Chill, Tango. Dex probably made a list. He’ll give it to you when he gets here. Just… chill until then, ok?”

Tango nods. Frowns. And opens his mouth, presumably to ask another question. Whiskey covers it with his palm. “We’ll be in the living room.” He tells them as he drags Tango away.

It takes ten more minutes for Dex to get there, which involve three desperate nickname attempts from Derek, (Fordham being the worst), several more questions from Tango, and the spilling of Ford’s box of noodles.

Once Dex arrives, it takes him approximately one and a half minutes to get Whiskey and Tango out the door with the grocery list, check on Bitty and Chowder, get butter out to soften, and start thumbing through the playbook. If Derek wasn’t already half in love with him this stunning display of competence would definitely push him over the edge. He can practically see the stars in Ford’s eyes.

It gets worse when Whiskey and Tango get back with the groceries, since Dex starts teaching Ford and Tango how to make meatballs while he mixes cookie dough. Tango’s questions are, as usual, semi-constant, but Dex never acts impatient, never rolls his eyes. Whiskey, in contrasts, chirps Tango mercilessly, nearly on the side of too much, with a hint of desperation Derek’s pretty sure no one else notices. He understands wanting to fit so badly that you try too hard and go too far. He’s about to step in, and probably make some kind of mess, when Ford turns around, hands on her hips.

“If you’ve got a problem with the way we’re doing this, you can either come help or shut up.” She stares at him. “Got it?”

“Yes ma’am.” Whiskey says, acting cowed, but Derek can see the tiny grin he’s hiding. He gets up. When Derek looks over, Dex is smiling softly at Ford.

***

Despite, well, everything, dinner goes well, and they manage to squeak a 2-1 win in the last minute of the game, with Whiskey making the goal and Tango the assist. Bitty sits on the bench, in uniform but without his skates, and watches everything with a heavy concentration that’s due to the fever he firmly denied when he got to the rink. Whiskey’s face when they catch him up in a celly after the final buzzer sounds is both ecstatic and terrified, which Derek admits is probably the correct reaction to both scoring the game winning goal and having an entire team of large hockey players suddenly mob you. The locker room celebration is loud and chaotic, and Derek looks around at one point and realizes they’ve lost Dex. 

Derek finds him in the equipment room, on the floor, legs drawn up, his head back against a cabinet, eyes closed. He stops, looks for a while, and goes to sit next to him.

“Hey,” He says, nudging Dex’s shoulder with his own. “Good job.”

Dex lets out a shaky breath and opens his eyes. Otherwise, he doesn’t respond. Derek considers asking, considers just talking to fill the silence, but chooses to keep the imposed quiet. A moment that could be minutes passes. He listens to Dex’s measured breaths, inhales and exhales so precise he could almost count the beats. This is new, for them, but it’s been long enough that Derek at least faintly understands this as a sign of trust, the fact that Dex is allowing him into this moment, didn’t immediately shove himself upright and pretend everything’s fine, or get angry and pick a fight. Eventually, Dex’s breathing grows less precise, more natural, more like the sound Derek hears at night, and he drops his head forward, rubs a hand over his face, and stands, offering a hand down to Derek. They walk out side by side.

“We did win, you know.” Derek offers.

“If we hadn’t, I wouldn’t have been in there.” The smile Dex gives him is tired. “Thanks, Nursey. Good game.”

He walks away. Derek doesn’t understand, not really, why Dex was sitting on the equipment room floor on the verge of something that looked like exhausted panic, but he wants to. Not just because he’s curious, not just because he watches, but because he wants to know. Wants to know Dex down to his bones, down to his marrow, down to the number of freckles on his skin, and wants, with a desperation that shocks him, to be known the same way in return. It’s terrifying, the longing that now has less to do with Derek’s lovely hands and impressive abs and more to do with the way he holds something fragile and the fact that his stomach crunches when he’s trying to hide a laugh. The attraction was bad enough. This? This could tear him apart if he lets it.

At the kegster that night, he gets drunk and dances with any willing body he can find.

***

Ford defies any and all nickname attempts, until the day she slams into the Haus (without knocking - Derek silently cheers) and asks if any of them can dance.

“Dude, you’ve been to a kegster, right?” Derek asks, studying alone in the living room, and thus the first one Ford finds. “Bitty and I are the best, but most of us have some decent moves.”

“No, no, I mean fancy dancing. Ballroom dancing.”

“Oh. Um… Maybe? You can ask. Text the group chat.” She whips out her phone and starts typing. “Why do you need someone who can ballroom dance?”

Her face is fierce when she glances up at him. “We’re winning a bet.”

“Ok.” He can get behind that. “What kind of bet? With who?”

“I was in the library with Mike –“ She starts.

“Dancer Mike or scene carp Mike?”

“Dancer Mike. We were discussing different dance styles and what kind of Latin dance would be appropriate for the dramat’s production of Evita, and he said something – well, rude, about hockey players, and I called him out, and it ended with me betting him that one of you can dance well enough to partner me at Samwell’s ballroom dance competition next month. And get an average score of at least seven.”

“I mean, we can probably –“ He stops. “Wait, you know how to ballroom dance?”

She nods. “Waltz, rhumba, tango, and foxtrot. Waltz and foxtrot are my favorites.”

Derek opens his mouth, stops, and smiles at the brilliant idea he’s just had. “Foxtrot. Your nickname can be Foxtrot!”

“Wait, what?” Ford looks up from her phone. “Why?”

“Because it’s perfect! You have that shirt with the fox on it you wear all the time, and those fox head earrings, and you can ballroom dance, and it matches Whiskey and Tango so at kegsters we can yell out ‘WTF’ and it’ll be great!” He drags her into a hug. She squeaks. He steps back. “Oh, sorry. It’s just, you have a nickname now!”

“You’re fine, I just wasn’t expecting it.” She readjusts her glasses. “And do I get any say?”

“Not really.” He tells her, just as Dex walks in with Tango.

“Hey, Ford.” They say in unison as they pass the living room entrance. Dex keeps walking towards the stairs. Tango stops. Ford pounces.

“Tango! Do you know how to dance? Partnered dancing, not kegster dancing.”

“Like in Dancing With the Stars?” Tango looks confused and a little wary. He’s the tiniest bit afraid of Ford – Foxtrot now – even if he’d never admit it. “No?”

“Could you learn?” She asks, looking him up and down.

“Maybe?” He takes a step back. “Probably not. But, um…why?”

“Foxtrot here made a bet.” Derek tells him, leaning back against the arm of the couch, hands in his pockets, all nonchalance at the introduction of his nickname.

Dex, of course, ruins it. “Who’s Foxtrot?” He asks, coming back down the stairs with a textbook. He looks at Derek’s very casual pose. “Did you become so chill you forgot Tango’s name?”

Derek resists the urge to shift into a different position. “No, I just finally figured out a nickname for Ford.”

“Foxtrot?” Dex asks, raising an eyebrow.

“It works!” And it does. Or it will. Either way, Derek’s not giving it up without a fight. 

Ford turns to Dex. “Can you dance? Real dancing.”

“I know how to swing dance.” He pauses, shrugs. “Or at least I used to.”

“You know how to swing dance?” Derek blinks to get rid of the image of Dex in a suit twirling some girl across the floor. “How?”

Dex shrugs again. “My high school didn’t allow grinding. We all learned how to swing dance for prom and stuff like that. I was ok at it.”

“Good to know.” Ford says, eyes cataloguing. Dex gives her an odd look. Derek sees the mental head shake before Dex passes the textbook to Tango.

Who asks, “So, what’s this bet?”

“I need someone to partner me at the ballroom dance competition.” Ford crosses her arms and purses her lips. Tango takes a step back. “According to Mike, all of you are too tied up in your own masculinity to ever ballroom dance. And wouldn’t be any good at even if you tried.”

“Has he… has he ever met us?” Derek tries. Or, fuck, even just Shitty. Or Holster. He’s pretty sure they’ve never considered themselves ‘too masculine’ to try something. Tango and Dex wear similar looks of confusion. Dex’s look quickly turns calculating. Derek ignores how hot he finds it with practiced ease. It’s basically the same look Dex gets every time they strategize during a game.

“So, what dance would we need to learn?”

Ford tilts her head, considering. “Waltz would probably be easiest, but a tango’s more impressive.”

“Could you teach us?” Dex asks absently, gaze still far away, thinking through plans and possibilities. Ford hesitates, but nods, sharp, her I’ll-make-it-work nod. Dex nods back in acknowledgement, thinks for a second more, and then locks his gaze on to Ford. “How long do we have?”

“The competition’s in a month.” Ford tells him, pulling out her phone to check the exact date. “The Wednesday after the Yale game. Want to be my partner?”

“If it turns out no one else is any good, sure.” Dex smirks, the slightly evil one that comes out whenever he’s thought up a really good prank. “But I thought we might talk to Bitty about making this a team activity. It sounds like we’ve been challenged.”

The “oh, no,” slips out of Derek’s mouth almost involuntarily. He pulls out his phone to text an SOS to Chowder.

“So, Ford, does the competition allow same-sex couples or do we need to see if Farmer can convince the volleyball team to help us out?” Dex asks, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorway. 

Ford grins, and it’s eerily close to Dex’s smirk. “Well, it is Samwell.”

Derek flops down on the couch and groans internally. Tango, he sees, has managed to work his way to the other side of the room without anyone noticing. Smart of him, but Derek doubts there’s any escape from the unholy partnership of Dex’s competitive streak and Ford’s righteous determination.

***

Bitty, of course, thinks the whole thing is a wonderful idea. He declares it cross training, and insists the team attend at least two practices a week. Of course, Ford and Dex (who she officially claimed as her partner after finding out that no one else had any sort of dancing experience) practice nearly every day, and these informal sessions are open to anyone who shows up. All of the Hausmates attend fairly often, since Ford rearranges the living room to work as an ad-hoc practice studio, and after the first week or so Whiskey is there more often than not. Derek’s surprised, since part of the reason Whiskey had started hanging out with lax bros was the weirdness of the hockey team, and this whole thing is crazy. It turns out he’s surprisingly good, nearly as good as Dex, and even though Derek has no idea why he’s there, he’s glad. 

Dex convinced Ford to go for the tango, and he’s amazing, especially once Ford convinces him to loosen up a little. Derek spends a lot of time pretending not to ogle. He wants, badly, to have Dex take his hip in one hand, wants to press chest to chest and feel movement and breath. He manages to compartmentalize this as just a part of Dex’s general attraction. The other thing, the thing he’s been trying to suppress, sneaks out the night Dex trips and ends up sprawled on the floor, and instead of getting embarrassed or angry, just tips back his head and laughs. 

The time when Dex had actually partnered him for a few moments to help teach a step is just a roaring blank of heat and tension and right.

It’s a sweet sort of ache, watching Dex dance, or at least it had been, until the ache turned into something sharp and thorny after he saw Dex and Ford at Annie’s. They’d been deep in conversation, Ford especially intense, almost desperate, and Dex had reached out and taken her hand, smoothed it out from its fist, and held on. Derek had left without his coffee.

And now, when he watches them dance, he sees it. The heat between them, Dex no longer playful but almost wicked, Ford following his every shift, how much time they spend with each other. He tries to convince himself to be happy for them. Ford’s wonderful, smart and fierce and no-nonsense competent in a way that reminds him of Lardo. He wants her to be happy, to have someone the way Bitty has Jack, and Chowder has Farmer. So he does his best to ignore the part of him that keeps screaming that that person shouldn’t be Dex, that this is wrong, Dex is his. Because Dex isn’t. He could have asked, and he didn’t. Didn’t want to mess up the friendship, didn’t want to make it awkward, since he’s living with the guy, didn’t want to lose what little he had. He tries not to admit, even to himself, how much this already feels like loss. It’s too late, and he works on convincing himself that it’s for the best, that he was just interested in the idea of Dex, not the reality, that he just doesn’t want to be alone, but he knows, after living together for months, that it’s a lie. He’s spent so long looking for a home and he finally found it with Bitty’s breakfast muffins and Chowder busting in to show him pictures of cute animals and enthuse about the Sharks, or Farmer, or new stick tape, and yes, Dex is part of that, but he’s also just Dex. Dex with his neatness, and the sound of his computer keys, and his sneakers left by the door, and the way he makes coffee in the morning. No one else has his hands, and no one else would make everyone help him paint the Haus one warm October Saturday and end up yelling at Ollie for dropping a brush on his head and getting covered in paint. Somehow, this boy he couldn’t stand became a friend, and then a best friend, and now it’s hard to sleep without the sound of Dex breathing above him.

So, he tries to be happy, writes bad, angst-filled poetry, and watches Ford’s smile and Dex’s hands on her waist.

***

The Yale game is always a disaster, not that anyone knows why. Ransom used to mutter about curses, and that seems as good a reason as any. So it’s not a huge shock when, during the third period, Dex gets hit with a puck right on his upper jaw where the face mask doesn’t cover. Both Bitty and Derek are there in a heartbeat, but Dex says he’s fine and after a quick concussion check from the coaches is back in the game. By that night it’s swelled up into an impressive red-purple bruise. Derek trudges down the hall of the hotel to get some ice.

“Dude, are you sure you’re ok?” He asks as he hand Dex the ice he’s wrapped up in one of their t-shirts. 

“M’fine.” Dex gasps as the ice touches his jaw. “Just sore.”

Derek gives him an unimpressed look, and thinks about going to get Ford or Bitty who can do even better unimpressed looks, but just sighs and sits down on the bed instead. He’s tired – they’re both tired, it was a hard game – and out-stubborning Dex isn’t worth the energy. Dex leans back with a groan and shifts until he’s lying comfortably against the pillows. Derek watches him for a moment, then gets up to dig the Advil out of his suitcase.

The swelling goes down after a day or so, but the bruise stays impressive. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem, beyond a few odd looks from students on Lake Quad, but the ballroom competition is Wednesday. Dex convinces Ford to dance with Whiskey instead. While everyone is participating, Ford’s the one who has to get a halfway decent score, and Dex looks disreputable enough that the judges might dock points. Derek tries not to be glad about this development, which is made easier when Dex turns to him and says, “That means we’re partners now, Nursey,” and terror supersedes any other emotion.

Wednesday afternoon the Haus is a mess of hockey players frantically practicing dance moves and trying to tie bowties. Ford is patiently walking Whiskey through the steps of a routine he’s only had a few days to learn. Derek’s not sure it’s doing much to dissipate the cloud of fear that surrounds the tadpole. Bitty is showing Ollie and Wicks how to tie bowties. Farmer swoops in and steals Ford to get ready. Dex hustles Whiskey and Tango upstairs to do the same. The new frogs stumble in, already dressed, and start waltzing around the living room. Derek is trying not to laugh at their intense faces when Chowder, cummerbund in hand, comes down and drags him upstairs. Most of them were wearing the suits they wore to games, just with a bowtie, but Ford had called in some favors and found a handful of tuxedoes as well. Upstairs is quieter, with Dex adjusting Whiskey’s tie and murmuring encouragements at him in the corner of their room and Chowder trying to slick back his hair. After a final tug at Whiskey lapels, Dex shoves him out into the hall. He looks good, red bowtie and cummerbund to match Ford’s dress, which none of them have seen, and a jacket that hugs his broad shoulders. He’s also very, very pale.

“Go. Wait for her downstairs.” Dex tells him. Whiskey nods, squares his shoulders, and marches away. Dex rolls his eyes.

They get dressed, Derek chirping Dex as he swears at his shirt cuffs, and walk downstairs themselves, Derek sneaking glances out of the corner of his eye. Dex looks amazing, like he belongs in a Bond film, the now yellowing bruise just adding to the mystique. He is firmly not thinking about the fact that he’ll soon have his hand on Dex’s triceps, Dex’s hand on his waist, and they’ll be dancing all but cheek-to-cheek. 

Chowder sees them first. “Dex! Nursey! You both look ‘swawesome! We’re going to have so much fun!”

“You like nice too, Chowder.” Derek says. “Farmer and Ford here yet?”

Chowder shakes his head. “Caitlin just texted. She said they’d meet us at the student center. They’re running late.”

Just then, Bitty starts yelling at everyone to hurry up, and they’re out the door, a pack of athletes in dress shoes. They sort themselves into couples as they walk, Ollie and Wicks obviously together, Bitty with Tango (though Bitty’s been teaching Jack how to dance as well – Derek’s demanding a demonstration next time Jack comes down), and the frogs in their own pairs. Chowder’s dancing with Farmer, of course, so he moves up to chatter at Whiskey, whose look of determination as he leads the group borders on the hysterical. Dex smiles at him, bumps his shoulder, and he breathes and tries to let go – of the fear, and worry, and looming sadness – and just enjoy this night and its ridiculousness, let the chatter of his teammates surround him and become the only thing that matters.

“So, ten bucks Wicks trips and brings Ollie down with him.”

Dex laughs. “No bet. And you shouldn’t talk, Mr. Trips-Over-Air.”

“Yeah, well, I trust that you’ll manage to catch me.” They walk a bit farther. “I can’t believe you convinced everyone to do this. I bet Mike’s face will be priceless.”

Dex smirks. The front of the student center comes into view, and Chowder runs up to the steps where Ford and Farmer stand. He receives a chaste kiss (someone calls out “Fine!”) and starts exclaiming over her dress. Whiskey stops dead at the sight of Ford. In all fairness, it’s an impressive sight. Ford’s aesthetic normally tends towards nerdy-cute, but her current outfit is a red dress best described by the word slinky, and it hits all the curves Derek didn’t even know she had. Dex moves forward and Derek waits for him to go up to her, take her hand, kiss her, something, but he just pushes Whiskey forward instead.

“H-Hey, Ford,” Whiskey stutters. “You look great! Umm…”

Ford looks down, almost shy, and fidgets with her skirt. “Thanks. You too.”

Derek moves to stand next to Dex who turns to him with a smug grin and mutters, “Couldn’t have planned it better.” Derek blinks, confused. It’s almost like – but –

“Ready?” Whiskey asks, offering his hand. Ford nods, takes it, and they walk inside.

“Come on,” Dex grabs his arm and tugs him towards the door. “This is going to be great.”

***

It is, great and terrible and perfect, and the look on Mike’s face when all of them tromp into the ballroom is priceless, as is the look that passes between Ford and Whiskey after the final dip, during that long slow lift back onto solid ground, and Tango’s look of terror when he almost drops Bitty.

And then there’s Dex, strong and sure and wonderful with a grin twitching at his lips and heat in his eyes. Derek spends the entire dance focusing on not falling just to avoid leaning in the few inches it would take for a kiss.

Ford and Whiskey even do well enough to place (7th, but who cares?). The whole team cheers obnoxiously, and Derek nudges Dex and whispers, “We have to call her Foxtrot now.” Dex rolls his eyes.

By the time the impromptu celebration party is over, it’s several hours past midnight. Derek is sprawled in a chair at the kitchen table, head pillowed in his arms, and half-asleep. Somebody, probably Chowder, pats his shoulder as they pass. Derek considers just staying there, or maybe putting in just enough effort to move to the couch. 

“Nursey. Nursey. Nurse. Come on, bed.”

Derek groans, and twitches away from the fingers now poking his side. He hears a huff, footsteps, and then starts flailing as his chair gets pulled away from the table.

“Hey!” Dex catches his half-hearted swipe and pulls him to his feet.

“Bed, Nursey. It’s late.”

He grumbles, but lets Dex lead him up to their room, waking up now that he’s on his feet. “So, Ford and Whiskey, huh?” He mentions casually as they get ready for bed.

“Yep.” Dex spits toothpaste into the sink. “Knew I was right.”

“What do you mean?” Derek asks as he crawls under the covers. “Right about what?”

“That Whiskey liked Ford back. Even once I convinced her that it’d be ok to date someone on the team, as long as they were professional about it, which I mean, come on, it’s Ford, so I doubt it’ll be a problem, she refused to believe he was at all interested. As if he hasn’t been staring at her since our first game.”

At this point, Derek’s pretty sure he messed up somewhere, but he needs to make sure. “So you and Ford aren’t… you’re not interested?”

“Me and Ford?” Dex laughs. “Where the hell did you get that idea? She’s like a little sister.”

Something in Derek relaxes. Maybe it’s not too late after all. “Saw you at Annie’s one day. You were holding hands. And then the way you two danced…”

Dex snorts and climbs into the top bunk. “That’s ‘cause it’s the tango. Anyone doing it right looks at least a little love-struck, according to Ford. And we were holding hands? You’re sure?”

“Mm-hmm. And the conversation looked pretty intense.”

The sheets rustle as Dex makes himself comfortable. “I don’t remember hand-holding, but if it was an intense conversation in Annie’s it was either about hockey or Whiskey. She was pretty torn up about him for a while.”

“Oh. Well. That’s good. Um…” Derek stops, not sure where he wants to go. Should he ask? Or even just hint? “Hey, Dex?”

“Yeah?”

His courage fails. “Nevermind. Goodnight.”

“Night.”

This, Derek tells himself, is not a good time. He’ll wait until they’re less tired, until he can do it more casually, after he’s tried hinting at his interest a bit. This isn’t fear, just prudence. He closes his eyes and tries to sleep.

***

The next week is Thanksgiving, and the Falcons have a home game the day before. Bitty’s planning to go down for the game and then bring Jack back for Hausgiving, so he can cook for those stuck at school. Since Samwell doesn’t have a game that weekend, most of the team is going home, but Derek, Dex, and Chowder are all staying. Shitty and Lardo make noises about coming down, and so do Ransom and Holster, and the whole thing turns into an SMH reunion.

Bitty bakes way too many pies, and they all eat far too much food, and for some reason Shitty ends up shirtless and Holster convinces Ransom to join him in a best friend duet. Lardo and Jack lean in a corner, watching the madness, and it doesn’t take long for Dex to join them. There are chirps and stories and bottles of beer exchanged and Derek offers to help Bitty with the dishes and doesn’t break a single plate.

They all end up sprawled in the living room, Bitty in Jack’s lap (they’ve declared this a no-fine day), Lardo tucked up against Shitty’s side, and Holster and Ransom taking up the rest of the couch, with the frogs on the floor. It’s almost perfect, and that feeling of contentment hovers, only to be broken by longing every time he looks at Dex. He’s got to make a choice, he realizes. Either say something or get over this crush. But at this point he’s not sure he could get over it, not and still see Dex every day, still hear the noises of him at night.

And yet he can’t make himself ask, on the off chance that it will mean giving up what he already has, this strange little family that grows and changes each year. He knows they wouldn’t abandon him (despite the little voice in his head that says everyone leaves eventually), but he also doesn’t want them to have to pick sides if Dex gets angry or uncomfortable. Not that Derek really thinks he would, but… And even if he said yes, agreed to a few dates, when the whole thing ends (because everyone leaves eventually), it would be awkward and uncomfortable, and Derek doesn’t want that. Doesn’t want Chowder torn between his two best friends again, doesn’t want Bitty to have to mediate, doesn’t want to go back to the silence and the bad fights, the ones that cut deeper than he ever showed. And, worse, what if they all pick Dex, and he’s alone again? So he has to stay silent, get over this crush, move on. Christmas break is soon enough, which means three weeks without Dex, and until then he’ll back off, stop spending all his time with him, and hope it’s enough.

“Hey,” Dex says, coming up next to him where he’s leaned against the wall, “You ok?”

“Yeah.” He replies, forcing a smile. He pushes off the wall with his shoulders and walks away, ignoring Dex’s look of concern. “I’m chill, bro.” 

***

Crisis strikes again in the form of Bitty crying in the kitchen. Derek’s in his room, ignoring Dex’s attempts at conversation and his increasingly odd looks, when Chowder falls through the open doorway. 

“Guys, Bitty’s in the kitchen and he’s crying and I don’t know what to do and I’ve never seen him cry before and it’s horrible and I need help and…”

They’re up and halfway down the stairs before Chowder gets too far past ‘crying.’ The three of them rush into the kitchen, Derek and Dex stopping fast enough that Chowder runs into them at the sight of Bitty at the kitchen table, clutching his phone and sobbing into his other hand. Derek looks around, for what he doesn’t know, maybe the thing that hurt Bitty, as Dex squares his shoulders and crosses to the table. His hand hovers over Bitty’s shoulder but doesn’t quite touch, and his voice come out low and soothing. “Bitty. Bits. What’s wrong?”

Bitty takes a gasping breath and starts wiping his eyes, struggling to pull himself back together. “I’m fine. Just…just silly. Nothin’s wrong.” 

“But Bitty-“ Chowder starts.

Bitty manages a smile. It’s horrible. “Y’all are sweet to worry, but I’m fine. Really.”

That’s a lie, they all know it’s a lie, but they can’t decide how – or if they even want – to call him on it.

“Should we call Jack?” Derek murmurs to Chowder. He’s not quiet enough, because Bitty hears and shakes his head.

“He’s on a plane back from Dallas.” Bitty looks at his phone, takes a shaky breath. “Besides, I’m not worryin’ him with this.”

“Well, then you’re worrying us with it.” Dex pulls out a chair, sits down. “What is going on? And don’t say nothing.”

Bitty shifts a little, fiddles with his phone, and places it firmly face down on the table. “I’m spending Christmas with Jack.”

“And…and this is a bad thing?” Derek asks.

“No, no, it’s,” The smile this time is shaky but real, “wonderful, really. His parents are great, and Canada’ll be cold, but y’all know I’ll just make lots of hot chocolate, and well, I was lookin’ forward to it.” His face falls. “Now I’ve just got to tell my parents.”

“About Jack?”

“That I’m gay.” Bitty’s eyes close and his voice breaks on a sob. “I – I was about to call my mama and j-just tell her, but I picked up the phone a-and – what if they hate me? I can’t – what if they don’t understand?”

“Oh, Bitty!” Chowder stands behind the chair and wraps his arms around Bitty’s shoulders, burying his face in the back of his head. Bitty starts sobbing into his hands again. Dex and Derek exchange looks, Dex’s sad, Derek’s helpless. It’s only a moment before he forces himself to stop, wiping his eyes.

“Like I said, just silly.” He says, patting Chowder’s hands where they rest on his chest.

“Bits.” Dex starts, then stops, struggling for words. “It…it may not be bad. It could be fine. They’re your parents, and your mom adores you, and – Even if it is, you’ve got us, ok? And Jack, and Shitty, and Lardo and Ransom and Holster. You’re not – You’ll always have a place to go. And – and if you want, we’ll stay here while you call, all right? We’ll be right here, whatever happens.”

Bitty nods, bites his lip. “I should have you give the pregame speeches, Dex!” His voice is falsely cheerful, deflecting, but the watery smile is real. “Thank you.”

Dex nods, passes him the phone. “We’ve got you.”

Bitty takes several deep breaths, closes his eyes, and presses call. “Mama? Hey. There’s something I need to talk to you about…”

***

The conversation ends with more tears, but good ones this time, both Bitty and his mother crying together, she so glad he’s finally told her, and happy about Jack, and he from sheer relief. Coach isn’t there, but she promises it’ll be fine, and an hour later while Bitty’s in the midst of a making a celebration pie he calls to say how proud he is. Bitty’s light and happy the rest of the day, and when Derek passes his door he can hear the joy in his voice as he talks to Jack.

In their room, he finds Dex at his desk, staring at nothing, body still. 

“Dude, everything ok?”

Dex shakes himself out of it and looks over at Derek. “Yeah, fine.” 

Derek shrugs and starts hunting for the book of William Carlos Williams poems he needs for a paper. He’s got his laptop out and is working on the essay introduction before Dex speaks again.

It’s just…” Dex sighs, and Derek looks over to see him bowed over, hands in his hair. “How horrible is it that I’m jealous of Bitty? Not – not the crying part, but the way his parents were just ok with everything. It’s not – not that my parents were bad, and my mom’s trying, but I –“ He breaks off, runs his hands down his face. “Never mind.”

Derek turns all the way around in his chair, until he can see Dex without having to look over his shoulder. He waits, watches. He gets it, a little, how Dex might feel bad for wanting what Bitty has, even though it makes complete sense why Dex would. He opens his mouth to say so but Dex beats him to it.

“I guess every queer kid wants their parents to accept them without question. It just doesn’t always work out.” He stops, swallows. “But I’m glad Bitty… I’m glad he got that. He… He’s had a harder time than I ever would, with living where he does and having to keep Jack a secret, and, well, it’s good he gets at least this.”

“You should tell them.” Derek says, words bursting out without his consent. “About – about the bi thing. It might help.”

Dex smiles at him, soft and just a bit broken, and Derek has to stop his hands from reaching out. This is not at all helpful in his plan to get over Dex.

“Maybe I will.” Dex stands, walks over to Derek, grabs his shoulder, and looks into his eyes. “Thanks, Nursey.”

He leaves. Derek stays frozen on his chair. Fuck, he thinks, fuck. It may be time for drastic measures.

***

So he throws himself into getting over Dex with a desperation that scares him, because otherwise, someday soon, he’ll end up kissing him, or spilling all of his feelings into the darkness of their room, or something else horrific, and it’ll ruin everything. The next few weeks are miserable, avoiding Dex as much as possible, writing paper after paper for his classes, and studying for finals. On the ice, he’s more aggressive than usual, trying to tire himself out, and at the holiday kegster he gets absolutely shitfaced, which, while not the best idea he’s ever had, would have been ok except for the fact that Chowder, halfway through the night, transferred Nursey Patrol to Dex. He doesn’t remember much, everything hazy through too much tub juice, but he remembers Dex’s worried, angry face as he pulled Derek away from lips and a warm body. Dex started shouting, and Derek shouted back, but after that everything’s a blank until he wakes up in his bed the next morning with his skull splitting and Dex nowhere to be found. When he manages to pull himself out of bed and limp downstairs, he finds an intensely worried Chowder who silently passes him painkillers and tells him, haltingly, about the screaming match that took place in the backyard. Dex doesn’t speak to him for nearly a week, and their playing suffers, enough that Bitty pulls them aside and asks them to leave whatever it is off the ice. Derek barely manages to avoid gasping in relief at Dex’s muttered “Pass the salt” during breakfast. Having Dex that angry at him hurt.

The night before he leaves for the break Dex manages to corner him in their room. “What is going on, Nurse? At first I thought it was just finals, everyone gets weird around finals, but… it’s not is it? Or not completely. Just… Jesus Christ, Nursey, what is wrong?” 

“Chill, Dex.” Derek says, avoiding Dex’s eyes. “I’m fine. Just too many papers, you know?”

Dex growls, reaches for Derek, and stops, clenching his hands into fists and dropping them to his sides. “Sometimes, Nurse, I swear to god…. Don’t tell me to chill, and don’t tell me you’re fine when you’re not. I’ve been living with you for over four months. I know you.”

“No, you don’t, so piss off.” He says, because something about the way Dex said that makes him angry, furious, because Derek wants to be known, and Dex doesn’t know him, not really, won’t ever know the secret Derek’s been struggling to hide. So he brushes past him, walks away.

“Derek,” He hears, his real name, which Dex never uses, and turns around, feigning disinterest. “I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong. Please.”

He ignores Dex’s worried face and pleading voice and leaves.

***

Christmas break, unsurprisingly, sucks. He comes home to an empty house and when, after a few days, he finally calls his parents he learns that they’ll be gone on business until after the holidays and that he’s to buy himself something nice as a gift. He stomps out to the nearest liquor store and uses his fake to buy the nicest bottle of scotch they have in stock. He knows, he knows, it would be a terrible idea to see how much of it he could drink in one night, but it takes more effort than it should to stop himself. The next day, determined to get over this wave of self-pity and assuage the loneliness, he goes out and wanders the city, window shopping at Macy’s, walking through the park, trying to catalogue what has and hasn’t changed since the summer. He looks up local showings of Christmas movies, finds a teal scarf that he buys for Chowder half on a whim, half as an apology. He does his best not to think about Dex, how much more fun this was when Dex was here, with him, gaping at the subway. It isn’t new, being alone, but it’s harder than it’s ever been before, now that he’s gotten used to finding Bitty in the kitchen and joining Ollie and Wicks for video games and weekly lunches with Chowder and team breakfast. And Dex, above him, in his space, tripping over his books, half-waking him when he leaves to run. He misses the whole team fiercely, and is quick to respond to any text sent from the now multiple group chats, but Dex is oddly silent, his presence missing. Derek thinks about texting him individually, maybe even calling, but what would he say? And besides, the goal is to make this break as Dex-free as possible, even if the ache kills him.

Christmas eve, he opens the bottle of scotch and carefully pours one glass, which he drinks alone, in the echoing silence of the too-big house.

He lasts through New Year’s, watching the fireworks from the roof, huddled in against the cold. The next night, he opens up the liquor cabinet and starts to pour himself glass after glass, until his hands aren’t quite steady enough anymore and he starts drinking straight from the bottle. Eventually, he blacks out.

He wakes up covered in vomit to someone pounding on the door. He groans, rolls over onto his back, and puts his hands over his ears. The noise continues for another moment before it, thankfully, stops. He drifts off again, only to hear a muttered “Jesus Christ, Nursey.” He cracks his eyes open to Dex’s worried face. 

“What…what’re you doin’ here?” He manages.

“You called me.” Dex kneels down next to him, puts a gentle hand on his forehead. 

“Huh?” 

Dex looks around. “Fuck, how much did you drink? Come on, sit up for me.”

With Dex’s help, he does, wincing the whole way. He slumps forward until his forehead is resting on Dex’s shoulder.

“Good, now up.” Dex says as he hauls Derek to his feet. “Shower, then food, then we are having a very long conversation, ok?”

He nods against Dex’s shoulder and they shuffle together up the stairs to his bathroom. Each step echoes in his skull and he clutches a little tighter at the piece of Dex’s shirt he’s got clenched in his fist. Once they get there Dex disentangles him and props him up against the wall as he gets the shower started. He looks at Derek, considering. “Can you shower on your own or do you need help?”

In answer, Derek tries to step forward, stumbles, and nearly crashes into the sink. Dex catches him, grimaces, and sits him down on the toilet before starting to strip. “See if you can get your own pants and shirt off.”

Derek nods, and starts pulling at his shirt, nose wrinkling at the smell. It takes a while, but he gets it off. Dex is standing there in his boxers, watching him. He manages to lever himself upright and slide off his pants, but trips again trying to step out of them. Dex catches him again. “Good enough,” he mutters, and drags them both into the shower. Derek can feel his headache receding, and he sags against Dex, who sighs and adjusts his grip. 

A few moments later, Derek rouses enough to pull away with a muttered, “Sorry.”

Dex lets him go, careful. “You good now?”

“Yeah.” Derek says, taking a step away just to prove he can.

“Ok.” Dex hesitates. “I’ll be right outside.” He gets out of the shower and gathers up his clothes.

Derek waits until he hears the door snick closed before he leans against the wall with a groan. He’s not sure what Dex is doing here, or how he even got in, but the last ten minutes are the most embarrassing of his life. He turns the water a little hotter and stands under the spray until he feels human enough to actually start washing.

His head is still pounding when he finally gets out and starts to dry off, but it’s a more manageable ache. He opens the bathroom door to find Dex sitting on his bed, playing some sort of phone game. Dex looks up when the door opens, but otherwise ignores him. He gets dressed and stands in the middle of the floor, lost. Just as he’s about to speak, even if he has no idea what to say, Dex stands up and shoves his phone into his pocket.

“Kitchen.” He says firmly, and walks out the door. Derek follows.

Downstairs, Dex sits him down at the table and puts a glass of water in front of him. “Drink that. All of it.” He takes slow sips as Dex finds potatoes and starts chopping them into chunks. He adds them and butter to a pan and starts rummaging around in the fridge, finally coming up with a few slices of cheese. Derek finishes his water. Dex pours him another glass. He divides the potatoes between two plates, puts the cheese on top, and slides one of the plates in front of Derek. “Eat.” The other he sits down and digs into himself.

Derek tries a bite and almost groans. The next bite is larger. They sit in silence until the plates are clean and Derek’s finished his second glass of water. Dex stands, puts the plates in the sink, and sits back down. “So.”

Derek winces. “So.”

“Do you want to start, or should I?”

“Go ahead.” Derek, resigned, drops his head into his hands.

Dex takes a deep breath. “Do you realize how dangerous that was? You could have died! You don’t drink alone, and you definitely don’t binge drink alone! There was no one here, and if I hadn’t picked up when you called me in the middle of the night who knows how long it could have been before someone thought to check on you. You’re lucky you didn’t choke on your own vomit!” Dex lets out a shaky breath but his voice stays hard. “You can’t do that to me, Derek, ok? I can’t – just don’t.”

“I’m sorry.” Derek lifts his head to see Dex’s stony face. “It… It won’t happen again. I…I wasn’t thinking. At all.”

“No shit.” Dex’s face crumples, a little. “What happened, Nurse?”

Derek closes his eyes. Breathes. When he starts to speak it comes out halting, slow. “I’ve – I’ve been alone, in – in this house, for seventeen days. Seventeen. I just… I couldn’t, anymore. I’m sorry.”

Silence. Derek opens his eyes. Dex grabs his hand where it rests on the table. “Next time,” He says, face fierce, voice a low promise, “You tell me. And I will find you a place to stay. With me, or Chowder, or someone. Ok?”

Derek, horrifyingly, feels his eyes well up with tears. He squeezes them shut, shakes his head. “It’s not… It’s always been like this. I don’t know – I don’t know why this time was so hard.”

He hears the scrape of the chair as Dex stands, feels him release his hand, and has only a moment to mourn the loss of contact before Dex’s hands are on his shoulders and he’s being pulled into Dex’s body. “Yeah, well, it’s not going to be like this ever again.”

Derek’s arms go around Dex’s waist as he starts to shake, breath coming out in hitching almost sobs. Dex just holds him, one arm around his shoulders and a hand on the back of his neck. 

***

Afterwards, Dex makes him drink more water, leads him up to his bed, and tells him to sleep it off. When he wakes up, sometime in the late afternoon, his eyes are gummy but his headache’s gone. He makes his way downstairs to find Dex in the basement, flipping through channels on the TV. “Hey.” He says from the doorway.

Dex jumps. “Hey. Feeling better?”

Derek nods and joins him on the couch. “Um… Thanks. For earlier. For everything.”

“What’s a d-man for?” Dex’s smile is off, slightly, and he quickly drops it, sighs, and rubs the back of his neck. “Listen, that phone call… do you remember any of it?”

Derek winces, shakes his heads. “Nothing. Did I… did I say something stupid?”

“Well, you were really drunk – seriously Nursey, don’t do that to me again – and it was kind of garbled, but…” Dex trails off. “You, um, mentioned something about a crush on me?”

Derek can feel the blood drain from his body. This might be more awful than Dex seeing him covered in vomit. “Uh… maybe?”

“Nurse.”

“I mean, it’s possible, I can get horny when I’m drunk, you’ve seen me at kegsters, and it’s not like you’re unattractive, so if I made a pass, I’m sorry, we can just forget it ever happened?” Derek babbles, brain in overdrive. This is exactly what he didn’t want.

Dex closes his eyes, runs a hand through his hair. Frustrated, Derek reads. “How about this? You tell me the truth, and I don’t tell Bitty how I found you this morning. Do you have a crush on me?”

Derek considers, but the threat’s a good one. You can do this, he thinks, it’ll be fine. “Promise nothing I tell you in the next twenty minutes will affect the team.”

“Deal.” Dex turns, puts his hands in his lap, and waits, eyes on Derek.

“I, um,” He takes a deep breath, tries to remember to chill, and instead lets everything out in a mumbled rush. “It may be a little more than a crush.”

Dex raises an eyebrow. Derek plunges back in. “I’m pretty sure I’ve been half in love with you since our first game this year if not before, and I thought about telling you – I thought about telling you a lot – but I couldn’t because I didn’t want to mess up what we already had and I didn’t want to make everyone choose sides if things went wrong and they’d go wrong because they always go wrong and then I’d lose you and the Haus and maybe even the team and it’s the first time I’ve had a place to call home and I can’t Dex, I can’t, so I didn’t say anything and I’ve been trying to get over it but it’s not working and can we just pretend this never happened?“ He’s panting, and Dex’s eyes are wide, and he needs to chill, damn it. He takes a deep breath and musters up his most casual grin. “So, yeah, not a big deal.”

Dex puts a hand on Derek's face. He freezes. “Kind of a big deal. But it’s ok. I’m a little in love with you too.” Dex’s thumb strokes along the line of his cheekbone. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.” Derek blurts out before his brain catches up. “Wait, no! We can’t, Dex, I can’t…” He chokes on all the words trapped in his head.

“Shh.” Dex’s hand is warm, and rough with callus, and Derek grits his teeth against how good it feels. “If you really don’t want to, we won’t. We’ll pretend this never happened and stick with friends, ok? But, I… I’d really like to date you.”

He shakes his head, movements small enough that they don’t dislodge Dex’s hand. “And when it all goes wrong?”

Dex smiles, small, tentative. “It won’t, Nurse. And if it does, we’ll deal with it then. It’ll be ok.”

He wants to believe Dex, wants it to all work out between them, but, “I can’t… I don’t…. I can’t be alone again.”

Dex’s grip shifts to the back of his neck, and he shakes him, just a little, the same way he does in games when he wants Derek to focus. “You won’t, Nurse, not again. Like I told Bitty, you’ve got me and the team and everyone who’s lived in the Haus the past three years and we’re not going away unless you make us. And maybe not even then. We’re stubborn assholes. We’ve got you. Promise.”

Derek closes his eyes, wills away all the voices in his head telling him not to dare, not to try, that this isn’t a promise Dex can keep. And maybe it isn’t, but Derek listens to the breath that’s been lulling him to sleep every night and decides to trust in Dex’s steadfastness, and the love of the team that filled the gaping hole that was so much a part of him that he’d forgotten it was there. He chooses to believe.

When he opens his eyes, Dex is smiling at him, uncertain, and he realizes that maybe, just maybe, he’s just as scared, just as unsure. 

He pulls Dex in for a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Fear over the possibility of coming out (Bitty), minor discussions of abandonment issues (Nursey), black-out level binge drinking (also Nursey). Don't worry, it all works out in the end.


End file.
